


One For A Wish - Two For A Kiss

by sleepyowlet



Series: Proverbial Branwen [5]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyowlet/pseuds/sleepyowlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Branwen is sick and feels icky and unattractive. Loghain begs to differ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One For A Wish - Two For A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Babblerama: A Cheeky Monkey thing. I'm afraid it's much too late, and the unfortunate sick monkey has been better for a long time, but I just couldn't manage to wrestle my muse into submission before. Proceed with caution, this is so sweet and fluffy it will make your teeth rot.

Branwen was miserable. Her head was pounding, and the skin of her nose was raw from blowing it all the time. Her voice was something between a mew and a croak, and every bone in her body hurt. Even the very small ones in her eyes.  
When she had gone to Anders with her problem, he had smiled sympathetically and shrugged his shoulders, saying that as advanced as healing-magic was, there was still no cure for the Common Cold. Best to let it run it's course.  
And then Anders had sent her to bed, advising her to drink lots of tea (she hated herbal tea) and to eat light with lots of fruit and vegetables (something she wasn't all too fond of either, she was a carnivore at heart) – but all that would have been bearable, if at least her lover had been here to cuddle with her; but Loghain had gone to Amaranthine to help train the new city-guard at the request of Bann Delilah Howe. He was due to return sometime today or tomorrow, and Branwen half anticipated, half dreaded his arrival. She had always been beautiful and desirable so far; would he accept her with her hair a frizzy rats nest, and her nose red and swollen? With snot pouring out of it almost faster than she could wipe it away?  
She sniffled and blew her nose again, wiping at the tears that sprung from her eyes.  
“Oh my. What happened to you?”  
She hadn't heard the door opening and closing, and there he stood, in leather armour (he had forgone the heavy plate for his trip), his pack carelessly slung over his shoulder, laughter in his voice and in his eyes.  
“What does it look like?” she croaked miserably in return.  
Loghain chuckled and shook his head, setting his pack down.  
“My poor darling has caught the sniffles,” he quipped, moving closer to sit down on the edge of the bed.  
“Don't mock me,” Branwen muttered and turned away from him, sneezing violently.  
“I'm not mocking you, dearest. I'm sure you feel terrible. But you are kind of adorable right now; like a sneezing kitten,” he said, half embracing her from behind.  
Branwen tried to shrug him off.  
“Go away. You'll just catch whatever it is I have.”  
But her lover wasn't to be deterred.  
“Don't be silly. I haven't caught a cold in decades. I was born a commoner; we are of hardier stock than the namby-pamby nobles of this land.”  
Branwen growled, or tried to, the menacing sound quickly degenerated into a fit of coughs; and Loghain tenderly rubbed her back until it passed.  
“I happen to be one of these namby-pamby nobles,” she finally said.  
Loghain was silent, but she could feel the vibrations of his laughter against her back.  
“You are just proving my point for me, dearest. I'll go have a wash and call for our supper. Don't go anywhere.”  
As if she could.

...

Branwen could see him through the open door to their sitting room, as he returned some time later dressed in a simple white shirt and doe-skin breeches, holding a tray with their meal. She got up slowly and reached for her wrapper; even though there was a fire in the fireplace it was a bit chilly in the evenings. Winter was coming.  
The family-tract of the keep had finally been remodelled some time after Leliana's arrival, and Branwen and Loghain had decided to share quarters. A doorway was broken into the wall between his room and hers, and what had been her bedroom had been converted into the sitting room she now stepped into, two doors leading away from it. One to the hallway, and one to her study.  
The sight on the table made her smile. A big tureen of chicken soup, a small loaf of bread and a bowl of salad made of fresh, shredded knob-celery and apples, with nuts and fresh cream mixed under. Enough for the two of them. Branwen knew that Loghain happened to prefer eating meat just as she did, and the thought that he was willingly sharing her misery of having to eat what they both considered rabbit-food touched her deeply.  
“Shall we eat?” he asked, sitting down across from her.  
Branwen nodded, and they had their meal in peace, quietly talking about the state of affairs in Amaranthine.  
The dwarven engineer in charge of the rebuild of the Vigil had installed bathrooms as they were common in Orzammar, with big tanks of water that could be heated and used as one wished, without servants having to carry dozens of pails with hot water. Those bathrooms were meant to be shared among the residents, but Branwen and Loghain had their private one with a copper tub big enough for two; and that was where her lover led her after they had finished eating.  
He must have fired up the oven for heating the water before he left to get their meals, Branwen thought, the air was pleasantly warm, and the tub was already filling with water from both the oven and a cistern that had been installed on top of the roof. There was always enough rain in Ferelden to keep it filled, Voldrik the engineer had said.  
Loghain indulged her again when he sprinkled some Orlesian bath-salts into the water. She loved them, as they reminded her of Highever, and used them when she bathed alone, but Loghain had always outright refused to use them when they shared the tub, saying that water and a good soap were enough for a Fereldan.  
Branwen smiled as a pleasant scent of lavender and bergamot filled the air, with subtle hints of pine.  
Loghain gave her a long, lingering kiss and helped her into the tub, taking his customary place at her back, so she could lean against him. Of course it also enabled him to easily reach her most sensitive spots. The hot steam rising from the water cleared up her head some, and Branwen smiled and relaxed, letting her lover take care of her.  
Loghain helped her wash her body and hair after letting them soak for a while, and when the water got tepid, he helped her out and wrapped her into a warmed towel. The head-cold had turned her skin overly sensitive, so she rubbed herself dry very carefully, before dressing in her shift and wrapper again and letting herself be led to the bedroom, where she sat down in front of her dresser, and Loghain combed out her hair. He loved doing that, and could somehow never get enough of running his fingers through the dark waves.  
Branwen sneezed again and accepted the handkerchief Loghain gave her with mumbled thanks. Looking into the mirror she decided that she really did look awful, and her spirits sank again.  
“Let's go to bed, dearest,” he murmured into her ear, gently biting the lobe.  
Surely he wouldn't want her like this?  
Branwen crawled beneath the covers and Loghain joined her after blowing out the candles. He wrapped himself around her from behind and started caressing her through the fabric of her shift. His big, warm hands felt good as they trailed over her body, so she let him. She felt quite drowsy after the meal and hot bath, so she barely noticed when he tugged her shift over her hips to reach her most sensitive places. His fingers were gentle but insistent, and he started to trail open-mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder.  
“I missed you,” he said quietly, his voice rough with desire. “Every night I lay in bed in Amaranthine, I wished you were there. I wanted you in my arms, breathe your scent, trail my fingers through your hair and along your skin. I wanted to hear you moan, and sigh, and whimper. I wanted to make you tremble and cling to me, wanted to make you hot and wet with desire.”  
Branwen did whimper at that, the combination of his clever fingers and beautiful voice doing unspeakable things to her, as they always did. She sucked in a breath as she felt him enter her from behind. She had missed him too, had missed this, being held, loved, and taken.  
The rhythm they fell into was gentle and languid, and Branwen simply closed her eyes and relished in the feeling of being close to her lover, who thrust into her deeply but slowly, rubbing her pearl delicately, as he knew she liked him to.  
And then she sneezed.  
Branwen sniffled, close to tears. Trust that damnable cold to ruin the mood!  
“Do you think you could do that again?”  
Loghain's question threw her for a loop, and it took a moment until she was able so reply.  
“Sorry, what?”  
“Sneeze. Your cunny clamped down on me deliciously when you did. It felt quite nice.”  
Branwen couldn't help but giggle.  
“Keep going,” she said, good humour returned. “Perhaps I will.”  
She did sneeze twice more before they had both reached their climax.  
Branwen turned around after her lover had slipped out of her and cuddled up to him after showing her appreciation by giving him a long, sweet kiss.  
“I love you,” she murmured drowsily.  
Loghain kissed the top of her head and drew her close.  
“I love you too, my sneezing kitten.”

...

Loghain continued to take good care of her, and Branwen marvelled at his unending patience at her grouchiness. He just grinned and answered that he'd had lots of practice taking care of two Kings prone to whining and self-pity. And he added that he was quite glad that the third hated his guts and was someone else's problem; which made her giggle.  
Three days later Loghain was reading to her from one of Brother Genitivi's books about travelling Thedas, when he was interrupted by a sneezing fit of his own.  
Branwen collapsed on the bed laughing, when she saw his flabbergasted expression.  
“So... what was that you said about namby-pamby nobles? Can it be that you've been one of us for too long?” she teased him.  
“I don't get sick. I never get sick!” Loghain protested, and promptly sneezed again.  
“My poor love,” Branwen crooned, embracing him. “I promise I will take good care of you.”  
Loghain shot her a withering look.  
“You'd better.”


End file.
